


Travel Down The Right Road

by geckoholic



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: F/F, Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-23 15:02:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3772672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckoholic/pseuds/geckoholic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Angie could have invited Peggy into her apartment, and one time she did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Travel Down The Right Road

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saiditallbefore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saiditallbefore/gifts).



> Among other things, you wanted 5+1 fic and something about Angie's and Peggy's developing relationship. I hope this pleases. :)
> 
> Beta-read by andibeth82. Thank youuuuu! ♥ All remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> Title is from "Constantly" by Saving Abel.

 

**1**

For all her griping about the rules and the stiffness and the prudery at the Griffith, Angie has long since accepted it as her little piece of heaven. It's why she wouldn't give up on lining Peggy up as her potential neighbor; she's never one to pass up further improving a good thing. No second thoughts, though: Peggy's got an easy smile and an open mind, but Angie usually isn't that lucky. And it's okay. She's just as happy to make a friend as she'd be to make, well, something more.

And so, Angie trails up the stairs after her brand-new neighbor, helping her carry her meager belongings into her new home, and doesn't ask if Peggy wants to come join her for a drink that first night. She doesn't hope for anything more than fleeting company as she watches Peggy smile politely and close the door to her apartment.

It'll be enough.

 

 

**2**

The phone company is a lie. Angie figured that out approximately five minutes into their relationship. She'll eat her scarf before she believes that Peggy spends her days in front of giant machinery, stoically connecting calls and never moving an inch. The late nights, the physical exhaustion that comes off Peggy in waves some days – it doesn't fit. And hey, Angie doesn't mind being lied to. She assumes Peggy lies to everyone about that, and that she's got her reasons. Most of the women around her have some things in their past or their present they don't want known or talked about. Doesn't mean Peggy's, like, secretly a spy, right?

On the third night in a row that Peggy sneaks in past nightfall, her clothes dusty and disheveled and her gait tired and lagging, Angie watches her arrival from the window. She contemplates heading her off in the hallway, but decides against it; Peggy looks like all she wants is to faceplant into bed and sleep for days. Tonight, offering her company would be imposing, not offering comfort.

Angie gets ready for bed, not actually slipping between the covers until after the noises and the movement in the other apartment have ceased and she's satisfied that Peggy is in the process of acquiring some well-needed rest. Only then does Angie flip off the light above her bed and goes to sleep.

Some other day, she'll come up with a more hands-on method of helping her relax.

 

 

**3**

Sunday mornings in the Griffith are a riot. Almost everyone's around, some of the younger inhabitants trying to nursing their hangovers in away that doesn't alert anyone else to the fact that they are, in fact, hungover, some of the older ones slipping them remedies on the side. There are giggles and laughter and animated conversations, and to Angie, it feels like the adult version of the children's church picnics her parents sent her to when she was little, only with less sermons and more gossip.

Peggy sits among the chatter and looks rather out of her element. They didn't have church picnics like that in dear old England, Angie suspects. Maybe masses where the little ones had to sit nice and quiet between their mothers and fathers, although Peggy doesn't strike her as the type to have had such an upbringing, stiff and obedient.

She nudges Peggy in the side, immediately regrets it when Peggy startles and spills a little bit of her tea onto the bread roll she buttered but hasn't touched since.

“Sorry,” Angie says under her breath, eyes searching for Peggy's to see if she’s angered her.

She needn’t have worried; when Peggy does look up and meets her gaze, she's smiling. If anything, she seems amused by the incident. “No bother.”

Relieved, Angie marches on. “Where did you go just now?”

Peggy's brows furrow in a way that makes Angie think she's deciding between the truth and a white lie. She sighs. “The war, back in Europe. How different this is to sitting around a long table of howling and yelling soldiers, and then again not at all.”

“Ah,” Angie says, because she doesn't have much at all to reply to that. She wants to ask Peggy for the whole story, what she did, who she was back then, but she doesn't want to risk the rejection she'll surely be getting. Even this little tidbit of information, this little glimpse into Peggy's past, feels like it was stolen, obtained by fraud.

They continue to eat in silence, and afterwards, each go back to their own apartments.

 

 

**4**

It's early afternoon, and Angie has taken a day off from the diner to go another fruitful audition. She didn't even get to recite the whole scene she had been given to prepare, got a not entirely polite send-off halfway through. Now, she's sitting on a bench near the front entrance, feeling sorry for herself and regretting her life choices.

She doesn't notice Peggy walking up to her, doesn't pick up on her presence until she leans in and puts a hand on Angie's forearm, squeezing gently. “Don't let these idiots make you sad. They wouldn't know true talent if it were to knee them in the nethers.”

For a moment Angie wonders how Peggy has figured that what the matter, but then she remembers that she told her about the audition yesterday, in a fit of excitement that seems foolish in hindsight. She allows herself to lean into the touch, seek comfort in having Peggy so close. There's harm in it; Peggy will never be the wiser.

“I don't know about that,” she says. “They can't all be wrong, right? Maybe I'm the idiot here.”

Peggy shakes her head, gentle smile on her face. “Absolutely not. I'm sure about it.” She takes her hand off Angie's arm to lay it flat on her thigh, smoothing out her skirt. Angie mourns the contact immediately. “Do you want to come upstairs with me? I don't have any liquor, but I make a mean strawberry smoothie. We can put some of your schnapps into it, even.”

Any other day, Angie would jump at the chance. Right now, it seems like a terrible idea. “No, but thank you. I'd be awful company.”

Peggy smiles again and pats her shoulder. “Some other time, then.”

 

 

**5**

Despite the fact that they're neighbors and see each other in the mornings and the evenings and for the meals and sometimes in between, Peggy still visits Angie at the diner. Sometimes she brings company – any of the men she's adamant about only knowing from her _job_ – but most days she's alone, nods at Angie when she comes in and waits for Peggy to finish with her other customers and saunter over.

“How's it going, English?” she asks as she slides into the booth across from Peggy; it's a slow night, no one's going to mind her taking a quick break for a chat.

Peggy looks at her from underneath perfectly curled lashes and smiles a weary smile, her mouth painted in the same signal-red as every day. “Don't ask, Angie. Not today. I'd have to tell you lies, and I find that increasingly difficult to do.”

A little bit steamrolled by the unexpected honesty – well, admission of the desire for honesty, anyway – Angie flees into the familiar motion of pouring Peggy a cup of coffee. Once she's set down the pot, she leans in and searches for the other woman's gaze. She swallows down the automatic quip and instead smiles with what she hopes expresses sympathy and sincerity.

“You don't have to pretend with me, Peggy. If you don't want to talk, let's be silent. If you want to tell me lies about how your day's been, because that's easier, you can do so. I'm not going to hold it against you.”

As long as you stay, is what she doesn't say; as long as you don't ever lie about everything else.

Peggy's mouth thins, but it's doesn't look like she's taking offense. No, Angie would say she looks _relieved_ , a few pieces of armor falling away as she stops bothering to keep up appearances altogether.

“Thank you,” she says and reaches across the table for the cream, stirs some of it into her coffee. “You have no idea what that means to me.”

Angie stands and, before she picks her notepad and her can back up, briefly puts her hand on top of Peggy's and squeezes. “Don't mention it, English.”

 

 

**+1**

Peggy keeps strange company, most of it male and odd-looking, and Angie's used to that. The day she turns up with Howard Stark in tow, though, even Angie does a double take.

She's not supposed to realize it's Stark, of course, and she refrains from doing so in public. But when she comes by Peggy's door as she's busy shepherding the man into her apartment, Angie recognizes him immediately. Contrary to popular belief, she does have more than a nodding acquaintance with the news section of the papers, and she's got a good memory for people and faces. She pays attention.

After the commotion in the hallway dies down, Angie leaves her door open just a smidge. She listens closely, and about fifteen minutes later, she's rewarded. Peggy's door clicks again, and Angie steps out of her own apartment just in time to see Peggy lean on the closed door of hers, eyes closed, heaving a sigh.

“Troublesome night?” Angie asks, and opens her door a little wider. “I could offer shelter, for as long as your room is otherwise occupied.”

Peggy sends a hectic glance behind herself, to whatever shenanigans the millionaire-slash-crazy-scientist-slash-wanted-traitor is up to in there, then shakes her head as if to get rid of a thought. “That'd be most welcome, actually.”

Angie takes a step back and gestures into the dimly lit room. “Be my guest, then.”

At this point, it isn't the first time she had Peggy over, and yet the excited shiver that travels up her spine refuses to die down whenever it actually happens. Angie puts on a kettle for tea – she drinks plenty of coffee at work, if she'd add anymore to that at home she'd never manage to fall asleep – and joins Peggy as she plops down on Angie's unmade bed, letting herself fall backwards, an arm over her eyes.

“So tell me,” she says, sitting next to Peggy with her hands knitted together in her lap. “How did you come to adopt Howard Stark?”

Peggy shoots back upright. “Oh, dear god, Angie, you can't _tell_ anyone, I swear he's not what they say he –“

“Of course he's not,” Angie cuts in, smiling conspiratorially. “If he was, you wouldn't be hiding him.”

Eyes narrowed, Peggy stares at her, but after a moment she seems to decide that Angie's genuine and smiles back. “Do you actually want me to tell you the whole story? I will, if you ask for it.”

“Nah.” Angie waves a hand. “I read enough spy novels to work out that being the bystander who knows the whole story probably isn't in my best interest. I'd like to still be alive when we make it to the last page.”

Sadness flashes across Peggy's face, and just when Angie wants to take it back, apologize for whatever bad memory she might've invoked, Peggy lifts her hand and places it on Angie's cheek. “Of course you will. I'll personally make sure that you're going to survive however much of the story's left. I'm not losing anyone else.”

It takes Angie a few seconds to overcome the shock of the sensation, the startling, unexpected intimacy of the touch, and process what's actually been _said_. Her eyes go wide and she stares at Peggy's face, lips curled upward into another slight smile and eyes bright with fondness.

Angie has always been reckless with anything else than her heart, has taken every leap and seized every opportunity. Just one time, here, with Peggy, she can be a little adventurous in that regard as well. She scoots closer, takes Peggy's hand in hers and draws it away from her face. She leans in, her eyes closed so she won't have to see the surprise and disgust in Peggy's expression if she's wrong. But once again, she needn't have worried.

Peggy kisses back without any hesitation, doesn't even draw back right away when there's another bout of noise from the hallway. No, she takes her time first, before she breaks the kiss and leans in so their foreheads touch. “I should go make sure he's not going to wake up the whole building.”

“You do that,” Angie says, grinning as she watches Peggy get up and smooth down her blouse. “Go reign in your fugitive friend. I won't go anywhere.”

The look Peggy sends over her shoulder as she marches through the door to do just that, Angie decides, promises all kinds of things well worth waiting for.


End file.
